had completely lost interest in her very existence. Turning
away, he walked to the window and looked out over the city of
Palanthas, whose gleaming white buildings glowed in the sun’s
radiance with a breathtaking beauty, with one exception. One
building remained untouched by the sun, even in brightest
noontime.
And it was upon this building that Astinus’s gaze fixed.
Thrusting itself up in the center of the brilliant, beautiful city,
its black stone towers twisted and writhed, its minarets –
newly repaired and constructed by the powers of magic –
glistened blood-red in the sunset, giving the appearance of
rotting, skeletal fingers clawing their way up from some unhal-
lowed burial ground.
“Two years ago, he entered the Tower of High Sorcery,”
Astinus said in his calm, passionless voice as Crysania joined
him at the window. “He entered in the dead of night in dark-
ness, the only moon in the sky was the moon that sheds no
light. He walked through the Shoikan Grove – a stand of
accursed oak trees that no mortal – not even those of the ken-
der race – dare approach. He made his way to the gates upon
which hung still the body of the evil mage who, with his dying
breath, cast the curse upon the Tower and leapt from the upper
windows, impaling himself upon its gates – a fearsome watch-
man. But when he came there, the watchman bowed before
him, the gates opened at his touch, then they shut behind him.
And they have not opened again these past two years. He has
not left and, if any have been admitted, none have seen them.
And you expect him… here?”
“The master of past and of present.” Crysania shrugged. “He
came, as was foretold.”
Astinus regarded her with some astonishment.
“You know his story?”
“Of course,” the cleric replied calmly, glancing up at him for
an instant, then turning her clear eyes back to look at the
Tower, already shrouding itself with the coming night’s
shadows. “A good general always studies the enemy before
engaging in battle. I know Raistlin Majere very well, very well
indeed. And I know – he will come this night.”
Crysania continued gazing at the dreadful Tower, her chin
lifted, her bloodless lips set in a straight, even line, her hands
clasped behind her back.
Astinus’s face suddenly became grave and thoughtful, his
eyes troubled, though his voice was cool as ever. “You seem
very sure of yourself, Revered Daughter. How do you know
this?”
“Paladine has spoken to me,” Crysania replied, never taking
her eyes from the Tower. “In a dream, the Platinum Dragon
appeared before me and told me that evil – once banished from
the world – had returned in the person of this black-robed wiz-
ard, Raistlin Majere. We face dire peril, and it has been given to
me to prevent it.” As Crysania spoke, her marble face grew
smooth, her gray eyes were clear and bright. “It will be the test
of my faith I have prayed for!” She glanced at Astinus. “You
see, I have known since childhood that my destiny was to per-
form some great deed, some great service to the world and its
people. This is my chance.”
Astinus’s face grew graver as he listened, and even more
stern.
“Paladine told you this?” he demanded abruptly.
Crysania, sensing, perhaps, this man’s disbelief, pursed her
lips. A tiny line appearing between her brows was, however,
the only sign of her anger, that and an even more studied calm-
ness in her reply.
“I regret having spoken of it, Astinus, forgive me. It was
between my god and myself, and such sacred things should not
be discussed. I brought it up simply to prove to you that this
evil man will come. He cannot help himself. Paladine will bring
him.”
Astinus’s eyebrows rose so that they very nearly disappeared
into his graying hair.
“This ‘evil man’ as you call him, Revered Daughter, serves a
goddess as powerful as Paladine – Takhisis, Queen of Dark-
ness! Or perhaps I should not say serves,” Astinus remarked
with a wry smile. “Not of him….”
Crysania’s brow cleared, her cool smile returned. “Good